You can also watch a recorded Q&A session, where Katie addresses more questions that we didn't have time for during the live session.
The session that became this webinar was Katie Anderson's working preview of a book she had been writing for nearly five years — "Learning to Lead, Leading to Learn: Lessons from Toyota Leader Isao Yoshino on a Lifetime of Continuous Learning." The book was weeks away from final edits at the time of recording, scheduled for release in July 2020.
Katie's relationship with Yoshino started in 2015. She had met him briefly at a conference in California six months before relocating to Tokyo for her husband's job. He had given her his card and said: look me up when you get to Japan, and I'll take you to Toyota. She did. The first visit produced a selfie on the bullet train that Katie now thinks of as one of the most important photographs of her life. After that visit, she made it her mission to spend as much time with him as possible — every two months, the bullet train trip to Toyota City, a full day of conversation. He let her write about their conversations on her blog. Five years later, the conversations had become a book, and Yoshino — a 40-year Toyota leader, then in his mid-70s — had become someone Katie describes as her Japanese dad.
The book covers Yoshino's full career at Toyota. He was John Shook's first boss there, when Shook became the very first non-Japanese employee of Toyota Motor Corporation. He worked on the Kon Pro program, the two-year intentional leadership development initiative Toyota launched in the late 1970s. He led the development of the training program for NUMMI, the joint venture that brought former GM managers to Japan to learn the Toyota Production System. He also led a failed thirteen-million-dollar boat business near the end of his career — the experience he found hardest to talk about, and the one that produced some of the richest lessons.
The session walked through a slice of that material, organized around three leadership behaviors Yoshino had named to Katie the first time she heard him speak: set the direction, provide support, develop yourself. The framing held the whole conversation together.
Katie Anderson is a leadership coach, consultant, and speaker known globally for her approach to helping individuals and organizations lead with intention. As founder of KBJ Anderson Consulting, she teaches leaders at all levels — and organizations of all sizes — how to connect and align purpose, process, and practice to achieve higher levels of performance. A California native, Katie has lived in five countries outside the United States, including the UK, Australia, and Japan, and regularly leads study trips to Japan for leaders looking to deepen their knowledge of Lean practices and Japanese culture.
Katie holds a BA from Stanford University and was a Fulbright Scholar to Australia, where she received her Master's degree from Sydney University. Her first book, "Learning to Lead, Leading to Learn: Lessons from Toyota Leader Isao Yoshino on a Lifetime of Continuous Learning," was published in July 2020 after this webinar was recorded.
She started her career in health policy and hospital operations. Mark and Katie met about a decade before this webinar through the Healthcare Value Network and Lean healthcare community, when Katie was working at Stanford Children's Hospital. Katie lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, two sons, and (in her own description) nearly a dozen chickens and hundreds of Daruma dolls.
Katie's working definition of intention is more specific than the word usually carries. The Japanese characters she put on her business card when she moved to Japan — shi-kō — combine a symbol meaning heart (in the lower part of the first character) with one meaning direction. Intention, in her framing, is the act of connecting with what matters at the heart level and aligning behavior in that direction.
The framing matters for leadership because most leaders genuinely intend to be helpful. The gap that emerges isn't usually a gap in intention. It's a gap between intention and the behaviors that actually serve the intention. A leader may want to develop their people and still spend most of their day telling rather than asking, because the telling is faster and feels productive. The intention is there. The behavior isn't aligned with it.
Katie's whole approach to leadership development is about closing that gap. Not by adding more methodology, but by creating practices — pauses, questions, reflections — that let the leader notice when the behavior has drifted from the intention and reorient. The word she uses for these practices is intentional pauses. The mechanism is small. The cumulative effect on how someone leads is substantial.
She mentioned the Japanese term Hoshin Kanri in passing — the same direction-of-the-compass-needle imagery sits underneath both intention and the Toyota strategic planning practice. The point isn't that intentional leadership is Hoshin Kanri. The point is that the underlying principle — connect with what matters, align action toward it — runs from the personal level through to organizational strategy. The intention work scales.
Katie spent time on a small object that does outsized work in her practice. The Daruma doll is a paper-mache figure that embodies the Japanese proverb "fall down seven times, get up eight." The doll is weighted at the bottom so it returns upright when knocked over. When someone has a goal, they fill in the doll's left eye. When they've achieved the goal, they fill in the right.
Her own larger Daruma — visible on screen during the presentation — has the word intention written on the bottom. It serves as a daily reminder that failure isn't the absence of progress. Failure is the absence of learning from what went wrong.
The mechanism is simple but it does real work. When Katie has fallen down on the book — the multiple times across five years of writing it — the Daruma reminds her that getting up is the practice, not the exception. The same principle applies to the way Yoshino reflects on his career failures. The boat business was a failure. The lessons from the boat business were not. The willingness to look honestly at the failure and extract what could be learned from it is what makes the failure productive rather than just painful.
The Daruma also serves as the gift Katie carries for the leaders she works with. She would have given each webinar attendee a small one if she could have given it to them in person. She made the offer anyway as a way of marking the intention.
The most important conceptual point Katie made was about how culture changes — and how it doesn't.
When Yoshino was tasked with leading the training program development for NUMMI, his boss told him the goal was to change the culture of the GM team and group leaders coming through the program. Yoshino's initial reaction was that this couldn't possibly be his goal. Culture is too big. One person can't change a culture by deciding to. He worked through it and arrived at a different formulation. He couldn't change the culture. What he could do was set up situations that allowed people to learn and that enabled them to change their own behavior and attitude. Culture would follow from many individual changes, not from a single act of changing the culture.
Katie's translation of the lesson: as leaders and coaches, our role is not to change other people. Our role is to help people change themselves. Culture is the cumulative effect of those individual changes. The leader who insists on changing culture directly is taking on the wrong work. The leader who creates the conditions for individual change is doing the actual work that produces cultural change over time.
The framing applies to virtually any organizational change effort. The mandate to "change the culture" is almost always misdirected energy. The actual work is changing the individual roles, expectations, behaviors, and patterns — one person, one team, one practice at a time. The culture is the cumulative result. The result can't be addressed directly. The inputs can.
Yoshino's three-part framing — set the direction, provide support, develop yourself — was the first thing Katie heard him say when she met him at the California conference. She has organized her own leadership work around it ever since.
The first leadership behavior is providing a challenge, a direction, or a target. Katie has found this is one of the areas where leaders most often fall short. When she coaches people through improvement work, the question of what the target should be frequently surfaces no clear answer. People don't know what their organization is actually aiming at, or they have a vague sense of direction that doesn't translate into operational alignment.
At Toyota, the target was always clear. If a clear target didn't exist for a piece of work, the team knew they needed to create one. Hoshin Kanri — the process of cascading targets from the top of the organization downward — was, in Yoshino's view, central to how Toyota became both a learning culture and a successful operating company.
Three principles for setting direction emerged from Yoshino's experience.
Be practical and directionally correct rather than precise. When Yoshino was setting targets for the NUMMI training program, he could have spent weeks trying to find the perfect metric. He didn't. He chose targets that were imperfect but pointed in the right direction. His test was whether participants would come back to California having learned one or two or three tangible things they could apply, and whether they would have a positive experience. He called the targets silly in retrospect. They were also directionally correct, and they got the work moving. Spending weeks trying to find the perfect target is worse than doing nothing.
Set targets by what's needed, not by what's achievable. This principle pushes against the natural tendency to set targets the organization knows it can hit. Compensation systems often reinforce the safer targets. The Lean view is that targets should reflect what's actually needed for customers and people — not what's comfortable to commit to.
Set seemingly impossible targets. The reason isn't bravado. The reason is that the lessons you learn from not reaching an impossible target make you smarter. You don't get the learning from a target you knew you could hit. The leadership condition required for this to work is that failure to reach the target has to be safe. If the systems and structures punish missing the target, leaders won't set the impossible ones, and the organization will plateau at what's comfortably achievable.
The second leadership behavior is nurturing people. Challenge without nurture doesn't produce a people-centered culture. It produces an outcome-focused organization where people are instruments for hitting targets. Yoshino's view, and Katie's, is that respect for people is the heart of what Toyota is actually about, even when the rest of the world focuses on the Toyota Production System tools.
Katie shared the recent statement from Akio Toyoda that Toyota's new mission is to focus on people's happiness. The framing reflects what Yoshino has always taught — that the company exists to make people before it makes cars. The product is downstream of the people. The people are the foundation.
The most concrete illustration Katie offered was the paint shop story.
Twenty-two-year-old Yoshino had just joined Toyota out of college. His orientation program lasted nearly four months — four weeks of classroom training and the rest on the shop floor. He was assigned to the paint department, where he had to pour different paints and solvents into a mixer. The work was repetitive. He stopped paying close attention. One day, after pouring the mixtures, someone came running in from the shop floor saying the paint wasn't sticking to the cars. At least a hundred cars off the line would need to be repainted.
Yoshino thought to himself: I may have made a mistake.
The paint manager came over. Instead of yelling, the manager asked Yoshino to show him what had happened. Yoshino walked through what he had done. The manager realized Yoshino had mixed up the cans — the labels and shapes were similar enough that the mistake was easy to make.
The manager said: I'm sorry. We did not set up the conditions for you to be successful. The paint cans looked very similar. This gives us an opportunity to make improvements to the workspace.
And then the manager said: thank you for making this mistake.
Katie used the story as the anchor point for what providing support actually means. The manager didn't excuse Yoshino. He didn't ignore the cost of repainting a hundred cars. He took responsibility for the system that allowed the mistake to happen, and he treated the mistake as information that revealed where the system needed to improve. The cans got relabeled. The workspace got reorganized. The next twenty-two-year-old wouldn't make the same mistake, because the conditions for the mistake had been removed.
Yoshino hadn't thought about this experience in years when Katie began interviewing him for the book. When he did remember it, he saw how much it had shaped his entire trajectory at Toyota. The story sits alongside the much larger boat-business failure he experienced near the end of his career, when Mr. Cho — then the president of Toyota — told him: this isn't all your mistake. We had a role in this. We were new to the boat business too. There were mistakes we all made. We're giving you a good new role in the organization.
The same principle ran from one end of Yoshino's career to the other. The leader's responsibility is the conditions for success. When things go wrong, the first question is about the conditions, not the person.
Mark surfaced the natural pushback during the Q&A. If leaders take responsibility for conditions, does the team stop taking responsibility for their work? The answer is balance. Katie was clear that the boat business wasn't solely Yoshino's responsibility, but Yoshino also reflects on what he didn't do well as a manager — including not running Hoshin Kanri the way he knew he needed to under operational pressure. The shared responsibility frame works because both sides are real. Leaders are most responsible for the system. Individuals are responsible for following the system that exists and improving it where they can. Mark referenced Darryl Wilburn's framing that a leader's responsibility is to create a process in which people can be successful. Creating that process doesn't mean people have no role. It means the leader has set the stage so the people who do show up have a fair chance.
Within providing support, Katie pulled out a specific sub-practice: teaching people how to learn, rather than just teaching them what to do.
The story she used came from Yoshino about ten years into his career, in his early 30s, when he was in the Tokyo office. The head of his division asked him to prepare a report. Yoshino had a week. Under time pressure, he skipped the gemba — the practice of going to see — and went to the library instead. He prepared his A3, presented to the senior team, and the big boss stopped him. Did you go to gemba? No, said Yoshino. The boss said: I will give you one more week. Go do this right.
Yoshino spent the week going to talk to the organizations he was supposed to have visited. He found the information wasn't materially different from what was in the library. He came back and gave the same presentation. The boss said: thank you, this is exactly what I wanted to see.
Yoshino later realized the boss had never expected the information to be different. The boss cared about whether Yoshino was learning the process of learning. The outcome of the report was secondary to the practice that produced it.
The lesson Katie pulled from the story is that leaders' responsibility extends to the how of learning, not just the what of decisions. Teaching people the process of going to see, asking questions, observing without judgment, reflecting before acting — these process habits are what produces durable capability. Telling people the answer produces a one-time result. Teaching them how to learn produces capability that compounds.
The same boss who corrected Yoshino on the gemba also became, in Yoshino's words, the most important mentor of his life — largely because of how that man asked questions. Yoshino described being amazed: this is the smartest person I know, why is he asking questions? The realization came later. The boss wasn't asking questions because he didn't know the answers. He was asking questions because asking developed the people he was asking. The humility to ask, even when you have the answer, is part of how leaders create the conditions for others to grow.
The implication for everyday practice is concrete. Leaders need to ask questions rather than tell. They need to be curious. They need to have the humility to know they don't have the answer to everything, and to give space for others to explore.
Katie spent a small portion of the session on something that surprised her when she learned it from Yoshino. He is, by John Shook's acknowledgment in the introduction of "Managing to Learn," one of the two managers who taught Shook about A3 thinking. The Kon Pro program — the leadership development initiative Yoshino was part of in the late 1970s — is, in his view, the reason A3 became Toyota's standard communication format.
But Yoshino has always said A3 is not a magical tool. Sticking rigidly to the format isn't necessary for the thinking to come through. The same boss who taught Yoshino about asking questions also taught him that the underlying communication and flow of thought matter more than format compliance.
Katie's translation for Western practitioners: the focus on tools and rigid format compliance — the heavy weight of "this is how A3 must look" — misses the point. The principle underneath the tool is what matters. Teaching the thinking is more important than enforcing the template. The originator of A3 thinking at Toyota wasn't rigid about it. Western Lean has often become more rigid about A3 format than Toyota itself ever was.
The third leadership behavior is developing yourself. Yoshino's framing the first time Katie heard him speak: as I was developing John Shook, I was aware I was developing myself as well.
The principle is that there's no finish line for a leader's own development. The leader who believes they've arrived stops being a developer of others, because the humility that makes coaching possible has dried up. Yoshino's working framing: "It's far better to know we still have to improve than to believe we know everything already."
The boat business failure produced the breakthrough Katie watched in him in real time during their interviews for the book. He had always looked ashen when discussing the failure. In one conversation late in the writing process, he had what Katie called an aha moment — a smile of seeing things in a different light, a recognition that he had now learned new things about a failure he thought he had already processed. The failure had stopped being only painful. It had become productive in a new way. The pattern is the developing-yourself behavior in action. Failure becomes learning when you stay with it long enough.
Yoshino's own line: "Failure isn't failure if you learned something you could not have learned elsewhere."
Katie closed the substantive part of the session with three practices she has found most useful in her own work and most teachable to others.
The intentional pause. Before reacting, pause to connect with your purpose in this moment. Are you the one who needs to set direction? Are you here to help someone solve a problem they own? Are you the problem owner yourself? What is the appropriate balance of telling and asking, of nurture and challenge, given what this moment requires? The pause is brief. It produces dramatically better alignment between intention and behavior than reacting reflexively. Katie noted that she has had to work on this practice substantially herself because her natural mode is telling rather than asking.
Watch for fake questions. Katie used a deliberately strange image — a wolf dressed up as a sheep — to make the point. Many of the questions leaders think they're asking are actually statements with question marks attached. "What if you tried my great idea?" is not a question. It's a statement looking for agreement. The discipline is to ask shorter questions that genuinely start with "what" or "how" — questions that can't be answered yes or no. Katie noted that once she started paying attention to this, she was surprised how often leading questions appear in everyday interactions, including in radio interviews and casual conversation. The two anchor words she leaves with most leaders: what and how. If you catch yourself asking a leading question, reframe it with one of those two words.
Listen with open ears, open eyes, open mind, and open heart. Katie credited drawings by Karyn Ross for the framing. Listening isn't only auditory. Listening with open eyes is what makes video important in remote work — you see things about how people are experiencing the conversation that you don't catch on audio alone. Listening with an open mind means not making assumptions about what the other person is going to say. Listening with an open heart means caring about the human being on the other side, not just the work product they're delivering. The four kinds of openness combine to produce the quality of attention that genuine coaching requires.
Mark asked Katie for her read on Akio Toyoda's recent comments. The headline she had seen suggested Toyoda was saying that the practice of genchi genbutsu — go and see — might need to be rethought in a more virtual world.
Katie's reading was that Toyoda wasn't abandoning the principle. He was saying that the practice might need to evolve. The principle of going to see remains valid. The way of doing it has to adapt to the constraints the pandemic and remote work have imposed. The distinction matters because it's the same distinction Yoshino has always made about A3: the principle underneath the practice is what counts. The rigid form of the practice is negotiable.
Katie also noted that Akio Toyoda's statement that Toyota's new mission should focus on people's happiness echoes something Toyoda has been learning from the founder of a Japanese company Katie has been visiting on her study trips — a company built on a mission of creating happiness for its people. The convergence is recent enough that Katie said she needed more time to reflect and synthesize before she'd be confident drawing conclusions.
The leadership work Katie described is fundamentally about human practices — pauses, questions, reflections, coaching cycles, the discipline of teaching people how to learn rather than what to do. None of that is software. All of it depends on leaders showing up to do the work in their own behavior and presence.
Where infrastructure connects is in the artifacts these practices produce and the visibility they require to compound over time.
The A3 work Yoshino described — and that Toyota uses across all its operations — is fundamentally an artifact of thinking. The A3 itself is just paper. What lives on the paper is the structure of how a problem was understood and how learning is being captured. For an individual leader coaching one report through an A3, the artifact can be physical. For an organization trying to develop A3 capability across many leaders and many learners, the artifacts have to live somewhere accessible. The conversations between coach and learner — Yoshino with the senior boss who corrected him on the gemba, Katie with the leaders she coaches now — depend on the artifact existing as a reference point both sides can return to.
The Hoshin Kanri Yoshino taught for years also depends on infrastructure. Cascading targets from the top of the organization downward requires the targets to be visible at each level, the relationship between levels to be visible, and the progress at each level to be visible to the leaders who set the direction. Without infrastructure that holds this visibility, Hoshin Kanri fades back into being an annual planning exercise that nobody references after the meeting where it was completed.
The reflection Katie emphasized as the beginning of learning rather than the end requires the working artifacts of improvement to be accessible months and years after the work was done. The boat business reflection Yoshino went through during the writing of the book wouldn't have been possible if the operational record from that period had been lost. The pattern generalizes. Organizations that can revisit their improvement history can learn from it. Organizations that can't, can't.
The coaching practice Katie advocates — asking questions, watching for fake questions, listening with all four kinds of openness — also benefits from infrastructure that captures the relationship over time. A coach and a learner working through many cycles together produce a shared history of what was tried, what was learned, and what to try next. The platform doesn't do the coaching. The platform holds the trace of the coaching so the coach can be better at the next cycle than the last one.
None of this changes what Katie was teaching. The three leadership behaviors are the three behaviors. The intentional pause is the practice. The question discipline is the discipline. Yoshino's lessons are Yoshino's lessons. What infrastructure does is preserve the artifacts and the relationships across the time horizons that real leadership development actually requires — which is years, not weeks. The Yoshino-Katie collaboration that produced the book covered five years. The Yoshino career that produced the lessons covered forty. Infrastructure that holds the practice across those time horizons is what makes the practice operational rather than ephemeral.
Who is Isao Yoshino? A 40-year Toyota leader, in his mid-70s at the time of the webinar, who became Katie Anderson's longtime mentor and the central figure in her first book. He was John Shook's first boss at Toyota, when Shook became the first non-Japanese employee of Toyota Motor Corporation. He worked on the Kon Pro leadership development program in the late 1970s, led the development of the NUMMI training program in the 1980s, and led a thirteen-million-dollar boat business near the end of his career that became one of his most-discussed failures. He is one of the two managers John Shook credits in "Managing to Learn" with teaching him A3 thinking.
What does Katie mean by "intention" as a leadership concept? The Japanese characters Katie uses on her business card combine a symbol meaning heart with one meaning direction. Intention is the act of connecting with what matters at the heart level and aligning behavior in that direction. The framing matters for leadership because most leaders genuinely intend to be helpful — the gap that emerges isn't usually a gap in intention but in alignment between intention and behavior. The practice of intentional leadership is the practice of closing that gap through pauses, questions, and reflections that surface when behavior has drifted.
Can you change culture directly? No. Katie was emphatic on this point. The Yoshino lesson from the NUMMI training program was that culture changes through individual changes in behavior, attitude, and expectation — not through declarations or programs aimed at "the culture." A leader's role is not to change other people, but to help people change themselves and to create the conditions where individual change can happen. Culture is the cumulative effect. The cumulative effect can't be addressed directly. The inputs can.
What are the three leadership behaviors Yoshino taught Katie? Set the direction. Provide support. Develop yourself. Yoshino articulated these the first time Katie heard him speak at a conference, and they have organized her leadership work ever since. Each behavior has multiple sub-practices, but the three-part framing keeps the work coherent and remembered.
What does "set the direction" actually mean operationally? Provide a challenge, a direction, or a target that's clear enough for people to align around. Three principles: be practical and directionally correct rather than precise (perfect targets that take weeks to develop are worse than imperfect targets that get the work moving); set targets by what's needed rather than by what's achievable (compensation systems often pull toward safer targets, but the real test is what customers and people actually need); and set seemingly impossible targets sometimes (the learning from missing an impossible target makes you smarter than the satisfaction of hitting an easy one). The leadership condition required for impossible targets to work is that failure to reach them has to be safe.
What does the paint shop story illustrate? That a leader's responsibility is the conditions for success, not just the outcomes. Twenty-two-year-old Yoshino mixed up paint cans in his orientation rotation, causing roughly a hundred cars to need repainting. The paint manager came over, asked Yoshino to walk through what happened, recognized that the cans looked similar enough that the mistake was easy to make, and then said: "I'm sorry. We did not set up the conditions for you to be successful. Thank you for making this mistake. This gives us an opportunity to make improvements to the workspace." The cans got relabeled. The workspace got reorganized. The pattern — leader takes responsibility for the system, mistake becomes information, conditions improve — ran from the start of Yoshino's career to the end.
Doesn't this approach let people off the hook for their own work? No. The responsibility is shared. Katie was clear that the boat business failure wasn't solely Yoshino's responsibility, but Yoshino also reflects on what he didn't do well — including not running Hoshin Kanri the way he knew he needed to under operational pressure. Leaders are most responsible for the system. Individuals are responsible for following the system that exists and improving it where they can. Mark referenced Darryl Wilburn's framing that a leader's responsibility is to create a process in which people can be successful — and creating that process doesn't mean people have no role. The two responsibilities are real and complementary, not in competition.
What did Yoshino learn about A3 thinking? That sticking rigidly to the format isn't what matters. The principle underneath the tool — clear thinking, structured communication, visible learning — matters far more than format compliance. Yoshino is one of the two managers John Shook credits with teaching him A3, and his view is that A3 isn't a magical tool. Western Lean practitioners often become more rigid about A3 format than Toyota itself ever was. The originator's advice: be looking at the principle underneath the tool, and teach that.
What are intentional pauses? The practice of pausing before reacting to connect with your purpose in this moment. Are you here to set direction? To support someone solving a problem they own? To own the problem yourself? What's the right balance of telling and asking? The pause is brief. It produces dramatically better alignment between intention and behavior than reacting reflexively. Katie has had to work on this herself because her natural mode is telling rather than asking.
What is a fake question? A statement with a question mark attached. "What if you tried my great idea?" is a statement looking for agreement, not a question. The discipline is to ask shorter questions that genuinely start with "what" or "how" — questions that can't be answered yes or no. Once you start watching for fake questions in your own speech, the frequency is surprising. The two anchor words to remember: what and how.
What does "listening with open ears, open eyes, open mind, and open heart" mean? Listening isn't only auditory. Listening with open eyes is why video matters in remote work — you catch things about how someone is experiencing the conversation that audio alone misses. Listening with an open mind means not making assumptions about what the other person is about to say. Listening with an open heart means caring about the human being, not just the work product. The four kinds of openness combine to produce the quality of attention that genuine coaching requires. Katie credited drawings by Karyn Ross for the framing.
What's a Daruma? A paper-mache Japanese doll that embodies the proverb "fall down seven times, get up eight." The doll is weighted at the bottom so it returns upright when knocked over. Practitioners fill in the left eye when they have a goal and the right eye when they've achieved it. Katie's own larger Daruma has the word "intention" written on the bottom and functions as a daily reminder that getting up after falling is the practice, not the exception. She carries small Darumas as gifts for the leaders she works with.
What did Yoshino say about failure? "Failure isn't failure if you learned something you could not have learned elsewhere." The boat business near the end of his career was one of his hardest experiences to discuss, but the lessons it produced — about working in different cultures, about being a leader, about making mistakes as a leader — were ones he wouldn't have gotten any other way. The reframing is operational, not just philosophical. It changes what you do with experiences of failing.
What was Katie's read on Akio Toyoda's recent comments? That Toyoda wasn't abandoning the principle of genchi genbutsu (go and see) but was suggesting the practice might need to evolve in a more virtual world. The principle remains valid. The way of doing it has to adapt to the constraints remote work has imposed. The same distinction Yoshino has always made about A3 applies — the principle underneath the practice is what counts; the rigid form of the practice is negotiable. Toyoda's statement that Toyota's mission should focus on people's happiness also echoes something he has been learning from a Japanese company founder Katie has been visiting on her study trips. Katie said she needed more time to reflect before drawing firm conclusions.
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